


Mother's Day

by XtinaJones91



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Carol and Maria are married, Established Relationship, F/F, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Confessions, Married Couple, Monica has two moms, Monica is their daughter, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Sappy, Space Wives, Time Skips, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, danbeau, space moms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtinaJones91/pseuds/XtinaJones91
Summary: Mother's Day through the years for Carol and Maria





	Mother's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Guys...I don't even know how this happened. I was sitting at the kitchen table this morning and the image of Monica giving Carol a finger painting for Mother's Day popped into my head and then it somehow became this...
> 
> I know I'm technically late by Eastern Standard Time in the States (where I'm at), but I'm still counting this as a Mother's Day fic.
> 
> This has only been lightly edited and is probably rough in parts, but whatever. I am such trash for this pairing and this movie and just everything to do with Captain Marvel.
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING: There are minor references to Carol's asshole dad physically abusing her as a child.
> 
> I promise most parts of this are happy.

 

**_1967 - Boston, Massachusetts_ **

 

She is seven years old and they make macaroni necklaces in class that they’re supposed to give to their mothers. She strings together noodles and beads along a strand of purple yarn, her tiny fingers struggling to tie the knot at the end.

 

She makes a card, too - pink construction paper that she covers in stickers and glitter glue and scribbles ‘HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY MOM - LOVE CAROL’ on it in blue marker. She folds it in half carefully when the glue dries and sticks it in her backpack to take home.

 

She keeps the card and the necklace hidden away until Sunday morning when she gets up early (she’s always the first one up) and goes to the kitchen. She climbs up on a chair to get down a cup and a plate and grabs the loaf of Wonder Bread from the counter. She makes toast cuz that’s the only breakfast food she knows other than cereal.

 

She precariously pours a glass of orange juice and only spills a little. She arranges everything on the kitchen table - the toast, the juice, her card, the necklace and surveys her handiwork, quite proud of herself.

 

She wants to race upstairs and get her mom, but she knows she’s not allowed in her parents’ room and she’s definitely not allowed to knock on the door either - last time she did that her dad got real mad and she’d ended up with a bruised wrist and couldn’t hold her pencil properly at school for a week.

 

Instead she sits at the kitchen table and waits, hopes the toast won’t get too cold. After awhile she gets bored (and hungry), so she eats the toast and makes some more. She goes up to her room and gets a comic book, the latest Captain America, to read while she waits.

 

Finally after what feels like  _ hours _ she hears movement from upstairs. She closes her comic book and straightens in her chair. Heavy footsteps shuffle down the stairs and her stomach drops.

 

It’s her father.

 

He enters the kitchen and doesn’t notice her right away, too preoccupied with getting a beer from the fridge. He turns to flick the bottle cap into the trash and his eyes narrow when they fall on her.

 

“What’s all this?” he grumbles.

 

“It’s...it’s for mom,” she mumbles, head bowed.

 

He’s quiet for a moment then lets out a harsh laugh.

 

“Don’t hold your breath, kid - that bitch is gone and she ain’t comin’ back. She left last night.”

 

Her head snaps up and her eyes start to water.

 

“Where’d she go?” she asks, voice small.

 

Her dad takes a chug of beer and slams the bottle down on the table so hard it rattles the plate of toast.

 

She flinches and shrinks back in her chair.

 

“I don’t fucking know and I don’t fucking care and neither should you.”   
  
He grabs for a piece of toast and munches it angrily.

 

“Clean this shit up,” he snarls and stomps out of the room.

 

She stares at the table for a long time, hot, angry tears streaming down her face. She swipes at them and sniffles then takes in a deep breath.

 

She gets up and dumps the toast in the trash and the juice down the sink, washes the plate and the cup because her dad won’t do it and he’ll yell at her later if she sees dirty dishes lying around, and her mom’s apparently gone and not coming back.

 

She takes her card and her necklace up to her room and sits on her bed for awhile.

 

Maybe her dad was lying. Maybe her mom just went on a trip like the last time she was gone. Maybe she’ll be back tomorrow.

 

She tucks the card and the necklace away in her bookcase between  _ Anne of Green Gables _ and  _ Treasure Island _ . 

 

She’ll come back, she thinks. She wouldn’t just leave her and her brothers here and not come back for them. She wouldn’t  _ forget _ them. That’s not what mothers do. Right?

 

One day becomes three becomes a week turns into months and then a whole year has passed. She fakes sick the day her class makes Mother’s Day gifts and spends the day in the nurse’s office complaining of a stomach ache. It’s not totally a lie - when she sees her teacher take out the construction paper and markers and stickers and glitter glue she really does feel like she’s going to throw up.

 

When she gets home that day she goes up to her room and tears last year’s card in half, dumps it in the trash out back along with her stupid macaroni necklace.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**_1978 - US Air Force Academy, Colorado_ **

 

“You gotta quarter, Danvers?” Maria asks her while they sit in the chow hall choking down the bland stuff the Academy calls ‘food.’

 

She digs into the pockets of her regulation track pants and hits pay dirt. She pulls the coin out and holds it between her thumb and forefinger.

 

“It’s my last one - whaddya need it for?” she asks.

 

“Gotta call my momma before training at 1300 - it’s Mother’s Day you know.”

 

Her shoulders slump slightly. She didn’t know. She stopped keeping track of the day once she got out of middle school and was no longer forced to make kitschy gifts for a woman she rarely heard from and barely saw.

 

Maria picks up on the shift in her mood; they’ve only known each other for a few months but Carol feels like Maria knows her better than anyone else ever has. It’s why she decides to tell her.

 

“I, uh, don’t really keep in touch with my mom,” she says, puts the quarter down on the cafeteria table. “Or my dad,” she adds.

 

Maria doesn’t say anything, patient as she always is on the rare occasions these moments arise and Carol reveals a little bit more of herself to this woman she’s pretty sure she’s falling in love with.

 

She scratches the back of her neck, a nervous habit she can’t shake.

 

“It’s for the best,” she explains. “They’re...well, let’s just say we don’t get along.”

 

She picks the quarter back up and fiddles with it.

 

“I don’t even know where my mom is right now, so I couldn’t call her even if I wanted to,” she shrugs haplessly.

 

“Carol…” Maria starts, but she waves her off. She doesn’t want Maria to feel bad, she doesn’t want her sympathy or anyone else’s. Lots of people have crappy parents; it doesn’t make her different or special or anything. It just makes her an orphan by choice.

 

“It’s not a big deal, okay? Been this way for awhile now, it’s just how it is with them.”

 

She puts the quarter back down on the table and slides it across to Maria.

 

“Take it,” she says, plasters a smile on her face that she knows Maria can tell is fake.

 

She stands and collects her tray, desperate to get out of here and into the fresh air.

 

“I’ll catch you at training,” she says to Maria by way of a goodbye.

 

“Okay,” Maria nods. She doesn’t push Carol to stay, doesn’t offer an apology or a gesture of comfort and she is immensely grateful.

 

Later, after training, they walk back to the dorms together, bodies tired from a long workout.

 

“I know it’s a long ways off, “ Maria says, casting a sidelong glance at her, “but, uh, do you want to come home with me for Thanksgiving?”

 

She comes to a halt and Maria turns back to face her.

 

“Really? You mean it? You’re not just asking cuz of -”

 

“No,” Maria interrupts, adamant. “Well, I mean, a little, yes. But also my momma wants to meet you. Apparently I talk about you all the time and she wants to see the ‘great Carol Danvers’ for herself.”

 

She can’t help the cocky grin that spreads across her face.

 

“‘The Great Carol Danvers’?” she repeats.

 

Maria rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips.

 

“Don’t go getting a big head over this, I don’t think your flight cap can hold much more of your ego.”

 

Her smile softens to something lighter. No one’s parents have ever  _ wanted _ to meet her before. She’s not really sure what to say.

 

“You don’t have to answer right now,” Maria says. “I know it’s only May and I don’t know what you usually do, if you see your brothers maybe, or other family, or -”

  
  
“I’ll come,” she blurts out. Because no, she doesn’t do any of those things Maria was guessing at and how could she reasonably say no to anything Maria ever asks of her.

 

“Yeah?” Maria brightens.

 

“Yeah,” she grins back. “I’d love to.”

 

“Great,” Maria replies as they fall into stride again.

 

As they cross the quad she glances over at Maria and smiles to herself. Maybe families aren’t the ones you’re given but the ones you choose, she thinks. This feels a lot like that.

 

* * *

  
  
  


**_1983 - Barstow, California_ **

 

It’s May in the California desert and Maria is eight months pregnant and miserable. There’s no A/C in her apartment and the multiple box fans she has running seem to just move hot air around the room.

 

There’s a persistent knock on her door and she shouts from the couch, too hot and tired to move.

 

“Come in!” she calls, knows who’s on the other side of the door without having to check or ask.

 

She hears the key in the lock and the door swing open and shut. Moments later Carol appears in the doorway, several grocery bags in tow.

 

“How’d you know I wasn’t a murderer?” Carol asks as a greeting.

 

“You have a very distinct knock,” she answers. “And you called me twenty minutes ago to tell me you were coming over here. You know I gave you a key so you don’t have to bother knocking, right?”

  
  
“I know, I know, but that just feels  _ weird _ , like what if you’re not here when I come over? I just let myself in and hang out?”

 

She rolls her eyes.

 

“Whatever, Danvers. What’s in the bags?”

 

Carol pushes up on her toes excitedly.

 

“Supplies!”

 

Maria adjusts herself into a more upright position on the couch.

 

“Supplies for what, exactly?” she asks, skeptical and a little concerned.

 

“It’s a surprise,” Carol winks. “I gotta get some of this stuff in the freezer before it melts,” she says and hurries into the kitchen.

 

Maria listens to her unpack, her curiosity increasing by the minute. Carol surprises go either one of two ways - really sweet, heartfelt gestures or totally chaotic disasters. She’s really hoping today is the former.

 

Carol returns from the kitchen after several minutes of rustling and muttering with a purple popsicle dangling from her mouth and an unwrapped green one for Maria.

 

“Thought you could use a cold one,” Carol jokes as she plops down next to Maria and hands her the frozen treat.

 

Maria accepts it gratefully and moans as the ice cold sugar water hits her mouth. Out of the corner of her eyes she sees Carol blush and turn away. She slurps the popsicle a few more times for good measure. 

 

The heat must be getting to her because she’s usually never this bold with her teasing that’s currently crossing the dangerous line into blatant flirting. She’s definitely into Carol  _ in that way _ , and she’s pretty sure Carol feels the same, but the damn woman must think she has to be chivalrous or something and can’t make a move while Maria’s pregnant.

 

Carol has finished her popsicle already and chews on the stick like a piece of straw, her lips tinted purple.

 

“So...what’s the surprise?” Maria asks.

 

“Finish your popsicle first,” Carol demands.

 

Maria bites off the remaining chunk in one go and swallows it down.

 

“Done,” she proclaims, sticking out her green-tinged tongue.

 

“Okay, okay, cool your jets,” Carol says and stands. She offers a hand to Maria and helps pull her up off the couch.

 

“How’s Trouble doing today?” Carol asks.

 

“Been kicking my insides all morning,” she groans.

 

Carol chuckles and crouches down so she’s eye-level with Maria’s stomach.

 

“Ease up on your mom today, kid, okay? It’s her special day,” Carol says and then rises.

 

Maria looks at her quizzically.

 

“What’s today?”

 

Carol gives her a ‘come on’ look like it’s obvious and she should know this.

 

“Mother’s Day?” Carol finally says when it’s clear she has no clue. Pregnancy brain is really getting to her. “Ring any bells?”

 

“Oh shit,” she curses. “I gotta call my momma.”

  
  
Carol laughs and guides her toward the kitchen.

 

“Later,” she says. “Surprise first.”

 

Carol puts a hand over her eyes and steers her with a gentle hand at her back.

 

“Keep your eyes closed,” Carol instructs, her breath raising the hairs on the back of Maria’s neck.

 

Carol steps away from her and she hears the freezer door open and shut. There’s the sound of containers being opened and the clinking of bowls and silverware.

 

“Okay,” Carol says a few moments later. “It’s not much, but...open your eyes.”

  
  
She does and she blinks for a few seconds while she takes in the scene before her.

 

Carol stand behind the table, hands behind her back while she watches Maria and fidgets nervously.

 

The table is covered in what looks like possibly every ice cream topping you could ever need - whipped cream, sprinkles, hot fudge, cherries, crushed nuts, strawberry sauce, M&Ms, pretzels...and a jar of pickles. Behind the row of toppings are three pints of ice cream, all of her favorites - rocky road, black raspberry, and golden vanilla. There’s also a small vase of flowers - desert lilies if she’s not mistaken - and a card with her name on it with a small box attached to it.

 

It’s...it’s a lot for her to process honestly. She thinks she might cry, or she already is crying, she can’t tell. This definitely qualifies as a sweet and heartfelt Carol Danvers surprise and damnit if that woman doesn’t know just how to get to her.

 

“Carol,” she finally manages to say. “What is all this?”

 

“A make-your-own sundae bar,” Carol answers. “I know the heat’s been killing you and you’ve been craving rocky road and pickles all week but ran out of both, so I thought why not go all out and have an ice cream party for your very first Mother’s Day?”

 

It’s incredibly sweet - both figuratively and literally. It’s incredibly  _ Carol _ .

 

“And the gift?” she asks, referring to the card and the box.

 

“Oh, that,” Carol says, shuffles back and forth on her feet and scratches her neck. “That’s, uh, just something extra I got since ice cream’s not like, an  _ actual _ present.”

 

“Do you mind if I…?”

  
  
“No, no, go ahead and open it. I think the ice cream will last a few more minutes,” Carol rushes out.

 

She steps toward the table and picks up the card, detaches the box from it carefully.

 

She feels Carol’s eyes on her, expectant and anxious. She opens the small blue box and puts a hand to her chest, too overcome to speak. If she wasn’t crying before, she definitely is now.

 

“Is it too much?” Carol asks. “It’s too much isn’t it. I can bring it back if you - I shouldn’t have - “

  
  
“No,” she chokes out. “Don’t take it back. It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect. Carol, I can’t believe you did this.”

 

She pulls the jewelry out the box and holds up the necklace. It’s a gold chain with the name ‘Monica’ strung on it in a cursive script.

 

“I thought you could save it, wear it once she’s born,” Carol explains, voice soft.

 

She walks slowly around the table and wraps Carol up in her arms. Carol’s taken aback at first but then responds and hugs her back.

 

“I love it,” she tells her, pulls back so she can get a proper look at her best friend. She brushes back Carol’s hair and cups the side of her face. Carol leans into her touch and stares back at her, eyes wide and hopeful and full of adoration.

 

“I love  _ you _ ,” she says without hesitation, without fear, without regret.

 

“You - you do?” Carol stammers out, her grip on Maria’s waist tightening.

 

“I do.”

 

Carol’s eyes brighten and a huge grin splits her face.

 

“Me too,” she breathes out. “I mean - I love you, too. Of course I do. God, how could I not,” she rambles, pressing her forehead against Maria’s.

 

“You better hurry up and kiss me before that ice cream melts,” she says in response, lips curled in a smirk.

 

Carol huffs out a laugh and then leans in, claims Maria as her own.

 

The ice cream melts, but neither of them cares.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**_1989 - Barstow, California_ **

 

It’s Carol’s turn to pick up Monica from the base’s daycare program - she takes Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Maria covers Tuesdays and Thursdays. It is without a doubt her favorite part of her day. With the crazy schedules she and Maria keep, time with Monica is precious to both of them.

 

Monica runs to her when she shows up in the doorway of the front room, her little astronaut backpack trailing behind her. She crouches down and gets an armful of Lieutenant Trouble, her little arms wrapping tightly around Carol’s neck. She stands carefully and retrieves Monica’s backpack from the floor, dangling it in the fingers of her left hand.

 

“Hey there, Trouble. Did you have a good day?”

  
  
“Yes!” Monica answers excitedly. “We made pain-tins!”

 

“Oh yeah?” she replies as she pushes the door open with her shoulder and walks out to her Mustang. “What kind of paintings?”

  
  
“With our fingers!” Monica answers.

 

“Wow! Did you make a huuuuuuuge mess?”

 

Monica giggles. “No, silly, we had our smocks on!”

 

“Ohhhh, well excuse meeee,” she teases as they reach the car. She drops Monica’s backpack onto the front seat and opens the back door to settle Monica in her car seat. Once she’s strapped in she grabs the pair of kid’s sunglasses she keeps in her glove compartment. She found the kid-sized aviators in Walmart and couldn’t resist them.

 

She slides them carefully onto Monica’s face and checks the car seat buckles one more time.

 

“Ready to ride?” she asks.

 

“Ready!” Monica shouts and sticks her arms up into the air.

 

Carol gives her a high-five and walks around to get into the car. She checks her mirrors and flashes Monica a grin as she backs out of the parking lot, her own aviators perched on her face.

 

They drive home in the afternoon sun, the promise of the upcoming weekend stretched out before them. Carol belts out all the songs on the radio extra loud just to get a laugh out of Monica. She’d do anything for that little girl.

 

Once they’re home she becomes preoccupied with dinner and keeping an eye on Monica while she plays with her toys in the living room. She completely forgets about the paintings until Monica brings them up at dinner. 

 

“We made finger pain-tins today, momma,” Monica tells Maria.

 

“Oh yeah, baby? What did you paint?”   
  
“I’ll show you!” Monica exclaims and hops down from her chair to run into the hall. She returns with her backpack and pulls out a folded piece of paper. She struggles for a moment but then succeeds in opening it and presents it to Maria.

 

“Dis one is for you, momma,” Monica says as Maria accepts it. She reaches back into her backpack and pulls out another sheet.

 

“And dis one is for  _ you _ , mama” Monica says to her, holding out the artwork.

 

“For me?” she asks as she looks down at the paper and takes it in her hands.

 

“Yup!” Monica answers, waits for their reactions.

 

“It’s beautiful, baby,” she hears Maria say. “I love it, thank you.”

  
  
Monica goes to Maria and gives her a quick hug.

 

“You’re welcome, momma! Those are my hands,” she states proudly.

 

Maria chuckles. “I see that, baby. What did you paint for mama?” she asks and turns toward Carol.

 

“Our family,” Monica answers, coming over to Carol to peek at the paper. “See?”

 

Carol has been speechless for the last two minutes, her throat clogged with tears.

 

Monica did indeed draw their family in clumsy swipes of her fingers. There’s three stick figures standing in a yard holding hands: a tall one with brown hair, a short one with brown hair, and then a third one with blonde hair, all smiling. ‘HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY AUNTIE CAROL’ is painted across and down the side the page in a rainbow of colors.

 

“Why are you crying, mama?” Monica asks, her little innocent face looking up at her.

 

She swipes hastily at her eyes and swallows, places the painting carefully on the table so she can scoop Monica up into her arms.

 

“They’re happy tears, kiddo,” she reassures Monica as she squeezes her tightly. “Because your painting is really special and it means a lot to me.”

  
  
Monica cups her face in her tiny hands and stares at her, face serious.

 

“You promise you like it?”

 

She leans in and nuzzles Monica’s nose with her own.

 

“It’s the best painting I’ve ever seen. I’m gonna keep it forever.”

  
  
“Forever?!?” Monica giggles.

 

“Forever,” she answers, plants a big, wet kiss on Monica’s cheek.

 

She glances over at Maria whose eyes are shining as she watches the two of them. She reaches for her partner, the love of her life, the woman that gave her Monica, and squeezes her hand. Maria smiles at her adoringly and squeezes back.

 

“That’s so loooong,” Monica says in wonder.

 

“It’s as long as I’ll love you for,” she replies, her heart bursting with joy.

 

She’s dead three months later.

 

* * *

  
  


**_1991 - New Orleans, Louisiana_ **

 

It’s her second Mother’s Day without Carol and she vows to get through it better than she did last year. Last year, Monica was still asking about Carol every day - where was she, when was she coming home, why wasn’t she here?   
  
She tried to explain, she really did, but how do you tell a five-year-old that her other mother is gone forever and never coming back? How do you make her understand it when you don’t even understand it yourself? There was no body, and there’s no black box. She has no proof and no answers.

 

She stays in bed even though she’s been awake for an hour, knows Monica plans to surprise her with breakfast in bed this year. Her parents came over for the weekend and she can hear them helping Monica downstairs in the kitchen. She lies against her pillows and fingers the necklace Carol gave her on this day back in 1983, the day they confessed their love for one another.

 

This holiday will always be tied up in her memories of Carol - she’ll always feel her absence a little more keenly than she does every other day of the year.

 

She hears voices and footsteps on the staircase and pulls herself together, sits up and wipes the dampness from her cheeks. She pretends for just a moment that it will be Carol who eases the bedroom door open and nudges Monica forward, that it is Carol who will carry in the tray laden with obscene amounts of waffles and fruit and toast, that it is Carol who will climb into bed next to her and pepper her with kisses, who will steal bites of her food and dab her nose with whipped cream while Monica laughs.

 

She blinks the thought away and puts on a smile as Monica and her parents enter her room. Monica hops onto the bed and wraps her in a hug.

 

“Happy Mother’s Day, mom,” Monica whispers into her ear.

 

Maria squeezes her tightly and holds onto her for an extra moment.

 

“Thank you, baby,” she says as she releases Monica. She smiles at her parents who stand in the doorway, a tray of a normal amount of breakfast food balanced between them.

 

“Morning momma, pawpaw.”

 

Her parents step into the room and sit down on the edge of her bed, place the tray carefully over her lap.

 

“Happy Mother’s Day, momma,” she says to her own mother. Her mother smiles softly back at her.

 

“You, too, baby” she replies.

 

“Is this all for me?” she asks Monica.

 

Monica nods her head enthusiastically.

 

“Yup! I did the waffles - grandpa helped!”

  
  
She cuts into the waffles and takes a bite.

 

“They’re delicious,” she tells Monica who puffs out her chest in pride.

 

“I used Auntie Carol’s recipe,” she says.

 

Her parents’ eyes both dart to her and Monica stills, realizes what she’s just said.

 

She swallows the rest of the waffle down and pats Monica’s leg.

 

“They taste just like hers,” she says to Monica, voice only a little strained and tight. “She’d be very proud.”

 

Monica’s anxiety dissipates and she smiles shyly.

 

“You think so?”

  
  
“I know so. Now come help me eat these.”

 

Monica scoots next to her and picks up the extra fork on the tray and digs in.

 

She finds herself telling the story of the first time Carol made waffles for her and set the fire alarm off in her old apartment building back in California. It’s like a dam bursts and she can’t stop talking about her. They laugh and they cry as she shares more, and for the first time since Carol died she thinks maybe, somehow, she’ll be okay.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**_1996 - New Orleans, Louisiana_ **

 

She wakes to the smell of waffles and smiles. She can hear laughter from downstairs followed by a loud ‘Shhhhh! You’ll wake your mom!’ Her smile widens and she rolls over, presses her face into Carol’s side of the bed and breathes in her scent. She’s been home for three weeks and life is  _ so, so _ good.

 

She drifts back to sleep briefly and wakes again to loud whispers outside the bedroom door. She keeps her eyes shut and pretends to still be asleep when they enter, her wife and her daughter.

 

Footsteps draw closer and she feels the bed sink slightly. She cracks open an eye and is met with Monica’s wide smile.

 

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Monica exclaims and flings herself on Maria.

 

“Monica Jane Rambeau don’t you  _ dare _ -”

  
  
But her threat is cut off and ignored as Monica starts to tickle her. Carol swoops in and joins the assault as she writhes and tries in vain to push them off her.

 

They all end up in a pile of limbs, their bodies still heaving with laughter. Carol meets her eyes over Monica and smiles at her softly, her eyes shining.

 

Carol untangles herself from the bed and retrieves the tray of waffles and fruit from the dresser. She and Monica sit up and make room for Carol to place the tray down on the bed.

 

“Happy Mother’s Day, babe,” Carol says, leaning down to kiss her soundly.

 

“Aww, come on you guys,” Monica fake groans.

 

Carol smiles against her lips and reaches blindly to push Monica gently backwards onto the bed.

 

“Hey!” Monica protests, arms flailing as she falls.

 

Carol lingers for a moment longer then pulls away, her smile smug as she sits down on the bed and pulls Monica into her lap.

 

“Sorry, Trouble,” Carol apologizes, dusts a kiss to their daughter’s head. “Gotta make up for lost time.”

  
  
Maria can’t tear her eyes from them, thinks of how she thought she’d never get to witness such a scene again after that fateful day their family was torn apart.

 

But Carol is here now, with her and Monica, and they’re having breakfast in bed and there’s a giant pile of waffles in front of her, and Carol is reaching in to the swirl of whipped cream to dip her finger in it, and now she’s reaching toward her, a mischievous grin on her face and a glint in her eyes and Monica cheers her on as she taps Maria’s nose and leaves a dollop of whipped cream behind.

 

“Got something on your face,” Carol teases.

 

Monica snickers behind her hand and Maria levels her with a glare. She swears that child forgets which of her mothers actually  _ birthed _ her, but she knows Monica can’t help it - she’d side with Carol, too - every time, no questions asked.

 

She reaches up to her nose and swipes off the whipped cream, brings her finger to her mouth and licks it off.

 

Carol gulps and Maria gets her revenge. Their eyes meet and Carol’s darken with the promise of  _ later _ .

 

“Try the waffles, mom!” Monica begs, and Maria looks away from Carol. “Mama told me about the secret ingredient this time so they’ll be even better than how we used to make them.”

 

She cuts into the towering stack and takes a bite. Carol and Monica watch her intently with matching looks on their faces as she chews.

 

“Well?” Carol blurts out, impatient.

 

“Even better than I remember,” Maria answers.

 

“Yes!” Monica cheers and pumps her fist.

 

Carol tucks her hair behind her ear, face bashful and soft.

 

She beckons them both over and they slide in on either side of her, each taking a fork so they can share in the waffle bounty. Carol wraps an arm around her waist and she leans into her, relishes in the feeling of having both of her girls here with her on this day for the first time in seven years.

 

They finish the waffles and most of the fruit, everyone content.

 

Maria looks over at Monica.

 

“You wanna go get it?” she asks her daughter.

 

Monica nods and jumps off the bed, runs out of the room.

 

Carol turns to her, face suspicious.

 

“What was that about?”

 

“You’ll see,” she responds cryptically. 

 

Monica is back in a flash, two gifts in her hand. She hops back up on the bed and places them in Carol’s lap, wraps her in a hug.

 

“Happy Mother’s Day, mama,” Monica says as she leans back and waits.

 

Carol blinks at both of them, an adorably taken aback look on her face.

 

“For me?” she asks, lifts the larger of the two presents.

 

Monica nods enthusiastically and Maria rubs a hand across her back.

 

“Of course, baby,” she says. “Go on, open it.”

  
  
Carol tears into the paper and pulls out a t-shirt, half-laughs and half-cries as she holds it up.

 

“Galaxy’s Best Mom,” she reads out loud. She opens her arms and looks at Monica.

 

“C’mere kid.”

 

Monica complies and Maria observes them with tears in her own eyes as Carol holds Monica to her tightly. 

 

“I love you so much,” Carol whispers to their daughter. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.” She looks over at Maria. “Right after your mom of course.”

 

Monica snuggles into Carol’s side.

 

“Open the other one,” she tells Carol. “It’s from mom. I helped pick it out.”

  
  
Carol reaches for the small box and pries it open.

 

Maria watches as Carol takes out the item inside the box and holds it in her palm, caresses it with her thumb. Maria can picture it in her mind’s eye - the circular gold pendant on a gold chain, letters engraved on it - two Ms, one for her and one for Monica. They picked it out together three months ago after Carol’s last visit home.

 

Carol is quiet for a long time and Maria knows she is fighting to keep her emotions in check. Their sweet, sensitive baby girl hugs Carol and lays her head on her shoulder. Maria joins her from the other side and together they envelope Carol in their arms.

 

Maria can feel Carol’s tears on her neck and she strokes her back as she lets it out.

 

“Thank you,” Carol says, voice rough with tears as she looks at Maria, “For this, for our daughter, for our family, for our life together. I dunno how I got so lucky. I love you both with all my heart.”

 

“For forever?” Monica pipes up.

 

Carol cups both of their faces in her warm palms, brushes a stray tear from Maria’s cheek.

 

“Forever and ever,” Carol answers with conviction.

 

And Maria knows it’s true.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And please go brush your teeth now because the last section of that was disgustingly sweet.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading and drop a note if you'd like!


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